


Touch

by Girleverafter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, elves are bastards, nobody touches Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girleverafter/pseuds/Girleverafter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack has been attacked by an elf, and you can forget all about gentle beings right there! With Boyd and Isaac down for the count, Derek, Scott and Stiles has tracked the creature to an old cottage. They need to take it down, and fast, but the following fight has greater consequences than expected, and Derek reveals a secret he never intended for anyone to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dust In The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is an un-beta'd WIP. 
> 
> These chapters are really short, and I'm not overly sure where I'm going with this, but I hope you'll bear with me here. I love comments and suggestions, so feel free to write.

“Is he even in there?” Stiles voice is, despite his whispering, loud in the evening air. They’re huddled together closely, crouching in the snow, Stiles sandwiched between Scott and Derek. The cottage looks peaceful enough, almost like a Christmas card as it’s flanked by fir trees, smoke rising from the tiny chimney. It doesn’t exactly scream ’villainous hideout’. But then, they’ve never actually encountered any of those. 

Derek nods “He’s in there alright,” the alpha casts a glance at Stiles, a deep frown forming on his brow “I still think you should’ve stayed behind.” Stiles snorts and meets his gaze, not a shred of uncertainty in his eyes “Really, Derek? Well, too bad. Because there’s just us right now. That creep took out both Boyd and Isaac, and Erica is keeping watch, just in case Mr. Magic Fingers in there has any friends he’d like to send down for a second visit. Deaton is no pushover, but when it comes to protecting half dead werewolves from enemies creeping up? It’s best to have someone close with super senses. Ok? So I’m sorry I’m not sorry that I didn’t switch places with Erica.” Behind him, Scott is nodding in agreement.

It will never seize to amaze Derek just how fine Scott is with Stiles fighting by their side, how much faith he has in the kid being able to protect himself. Derek doesn’t doubt Stiles’ skills, but he’s so very, very human, so easily breakable, and every attack is a potential death blow. So far Stiles has gone unscathed, but luck always runs out at some point, and Derek prays that he’ll be fast enough when the inevitable happens, because Stiles will never stop fighting for the pack. Never. Pack is family. Family is everything.

Stiles is smiling grimly, not a hint of humor in the expression. Derek recognizes it as the tell tale sign of Stiles steeling himself, gathering his courage.

“Besides,” Stiles is pulling off his gloves and tightening his hold on the glass jar that contains what looks suspiciously a lot like dirt, but is actually the key to take down one sadistic elf “I’ve go the jar of diiirt” Stiles drags out the vowel in that last word in a sing song voice and then grins, his eyes glinting dangerously.

Sometimes Derek finds himself relieved at the thought that Stiles fights for the pack, and not against it.

*****

The air reeks of ozone, crackling with the energy of released spells, and Derek and Stiles is once again crouching side by side, their backs against the pale blue paint peeling of the cupboards of the dingy kitchen. Stiles still hasn’t managed to get a clear shot and he’s idly shifting the jar from hand to hand, making the mixture of dried Red Verbena and St. John’s Wort, and rusty iron dust slosh from side to side. Stiles just needs one clear shot. One. But they’re stuck hiding in the kitchen out of the line of fire, listening to Scott’s snarls as he successfully avoids the magical assault. Stiles’ pulse is loud in Derek’s ears; a frantic tattoo matching his own beating heart.

”Derek,” Stiles is hissing, his breath loud and staggered ”He’s running out of time out there. We need to finish this!” the loud crash and following growl seems to underline the statement, and Derek gives a short nod before pushing himself off from the floor.

The main room of the cottage is a mess, couch stuffing and dust settling around them. The sparse furniture has suffered a violent end, caught in the crossfire and breaking under sharp wolf claws. The elf is standing the corner, keeping his back clear and keeping a watchful eye on the wolves approaching.

”I still say he looks nothing like Legolas!” Stiles is staying close, half hidden by Derek, and he might sound like he thinks this is all fun and games, but Derek knows it’s all a front. Well mostly a front. Derek kind of agrees with him. The thing facing them doesn’t even look like Agent Smith in a wig. The elf is snarling at them, it’s brown mane of hair in a mess, it’s elongated and slightly feline face scrunched up in an angry grimace. It’d been beautiful the first time they’d encountered it, hiding behind glamour, showing each of them a different appearance. To Derek it’d looked like a young, tall and beautiful woman with dark, almost black hair and a soft, knowing look in it’s green eyes. Stiles had talked about a sandy haired middle-aged woman who seemed vaguely familiar. To Erica it’d looked somewhat like some guy she kept calling JGL. Whoever that is. It’d been a surprise, as well as a clue to what they were up against when they’d regrouped and compared notes. Derek isn’t even sure if the creature is male or female.

”Be careful! This fairy is fucking fast.” Scott is mumbling under his breath, pushing himself out of the wreckage of the coffee table. He doesn’t bother with talking aloud, knowing Derek can hear him just fine.

"Elf” Derek keeps his eyes locked on their opponent.

”What?” Scott is still struggling with splinters and cheap plywood, and behind the alpha, Stiles is asking what the hell Scott is talking about.

”Elf. Not fairy. There’s a difference” The elf is looking from Derek to the door half hanging off it’s hinges, and Derek can actually see when it dawns on the thing that it won’t make it to the entrance before he’ll get to it. An expression flickers across it’s face, and he knows there’s no more time.

”Scott, get down. Now!” He bellows, not bothering to wait for the beta to obey and just rushes forward, pushing Scott back behind him roughly. Maybe using too much force, if the sound of crashing is anything to go by. No matter, he’ll apologize later. Maybe. The elf is chanting something unintelligible and Derek feels the surge in the air as it gathers the power to throw a new spell. Behind him Stiles is yelling something, and Derek knows he has to be fast now, before Stiles gives into his stupid courage and jumps into the middle of whatever is about to happen. Derek really wishes Stiles wasn’t here, that he’d done what he’d been told. But then Stiles isn’t a werewolf, and Derek’s alpha powers don’t work on humans. Fucking hell.

He’s in mid jump when the spell hits him, but his claws are stretched out in front of him, aiming for the thing’s throat and his momentum pushes them into the elf. He grabs hold and twists, flinging it towards the floor behind him.

”NOW!” He shouts, even as the sound of breaking glass reaches him, making the command unnecessary. The air fills with the mixture and the elf screeches as it breathes in the iron and herbs. It thrashes on the floor, hands curling and head banging against the old floor boards. The screech dies out, ending in a disgusting gurgle before the elf is finally dead. 

Iron, man. To elves and fairies it’s more lethal than any Wolfsbane is to a wolf.

Derek breathes out, pulling back his claws. He blinks hard a couple of times. There’s something off about the room. Maybe it’s the compound still thick in the air. It makes Derek wonder if Red Verbena is toxic to wolves. He huffs, trying to rid his nostrils of the stuff, but it just makes him dizzy. The room suddenly seems darker, and is the ground really shaking? The alpha stumbles forward.

”Did someone hit the lights?” he slurs before crashing to the floor.


	2. Reversal

The dust stirs, rising in clouds around the alpha’s fallen form.

“What the hell? What did he just say?” Scott is looking from Stiles to Derek, and Stiles shrugs, giving him a I-dunno-but-is-it-a-trap face. Scott stills, obviously listening for more opponents. Stiles does his best to keep completely still, just in case it’ll make Scott’s job any easier. The beta sniffs before shaking his head. They’re both moving at the same time, but it’s Scott who reaches Derek first, crouching down beside him. “Dude, he’s completely out! He must’ve gotten hit.” rolling Derek over, pulling off his leather jacket, looking him over for any signs of injury.

“I dunno man, he seems kinda fine,” He says after a few seconds and lifts Derek with ease, propping him up to sit against the nearest wall. The alpha grunts and then stirs, frowning a bit before opening his eyes. 

“Hey, look who’s back. Dude, you okay?” Scott puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder when it looks like the wolf is going to keel over again. His head is still drooping, chin almost touching his chest. Derek blinks hard like he just woke up from a deep sleep, and shakes his head slowly. Whether it’s an answer to Scott’s question, or if he’s just trying to shake himself properly awake is anyone’s guess.

“Derek? Did he hit you?” Stiles tries to catch the alpha’s eyes as he blinks hard again. “It really looks like he did, man. Where did he get you?” He carefully places a hand on Derek’s chest. The touch is what finally seems to break the alpha out of his daze, making him look up, first at Scott and then at Stiles who still hasn’t removed his hand splayed out over the dusty shirt.

“I’m- I don’t know. I feel… okay. I think? I don’t think it had time to finish the spell.” His eyes are darting back and forth, taking in his surroundings.

“Really? You look pretty out of it. Okay, fine, if you say so. Dude, don’t look at my hand like that, I’m not contagious!” Stiles finally pulls his hand back and gets to his feet. Scott follows him and hands Derek the leather jacket. “We should get this mess cleared up and get out of here!” The alpha glares at him.

“Really, Scott? And here I had planned to sit down and sing songs together,” Derek huffs, pulling his legs to him and making a move to get up. He suddenly stops with a surprised hiss. “What the?” He flinches, looking down at his left thigh. Both beta and human crouches beside him once again. Stiles reaches out to touch him again, but Derek holds up a hand to stop him. “No, wait. Just gimme a sec-“ He flexes his hands, claws coming out before he digs into the fabric of his jeans, tearing it away from what turns out to be a small wooden splinter protruding from his thigh. Stiles tries hard to disguise his giggle as a cough. He doesn’t really succeed.

“Heh, really, Derek? This is what takes down our big alpha? A splinter?” He’s thinking of other possible jokes when the alpha pulls out the little piece of wood. Stiles has seen werewolves heal countless of times by now, so he doesn’t really notice it at first, but when both wolves inhales sharply in surprise, he takes a closer look.

“Fuck. What the hell? Is it supposed to do that?” 

The wound isn’t closing. There are no tiny tendrils of tissue knitting together. No, the more he stares the clearer it becomes that the process is reversing. The area around the wound is turning an angry red, and the skin seems to be pulling away, curling in on itself. Stiles ignores Scott’s gasp and turns his attention to Derek, looking to him for answers.

“Seriously, that looks so wrong. What the fuck, Derek?” Derek looks worried. Very worried. He prods carefully at the wound, as if the action would make his body realize it’s doing it wrong.

“Have you ever heard of cursed coffee tables? No, wait, I fell into it, and I’m fine. Hey, maybe, if you trigger your healing?” Scott is saying even as he’s pulling away from Derek, getting back on his feet. Derek is nodding with a grim expression, his mouth setting into a thin, determined line. His claws are still fully extended and he digs a few of them into his left arm at the same time as Stiles launches himself forward with an adamant “No, wait!”

Too late. Derek doesn’t even try to suppress his pained shout, but he does pull back the claws as if burned. The new wound isn’t closing, not at all. Derek screams and flinches back, stretching his arm ahead of him while scrambling back as if he can crawl through the wall behind him, as if he can somehow escape the pain. Blood runs red as the skin peels slowly back, curling and bubbling and exposing the underlying layers of wet tissue and muscle. Stiles feels like his eyes might pop out at any moment as he stares at what looks a lot like a scene from a horror movie.

“Oh god! Oh my god!? Don’t try that again! Scott, what the hell is happening?! Fuck, what’re we going to do? Derek, shit— Sit the fuck still, man!” Stiles pushes at the alpha’s shoulders, trying to keep him still. He’s not doing a very good job of it, but he manages sense that the wolf’s body feels like it’s burning up.

“Fuck! That spell must’ve hit him!” Scott is backing slowly away, ignoring Stiles’ accusing looks. “I’m sorry Stiles, you can’t smell it. He- it smells like rotting meat.” He’s almost at the door.

“Fuck, this is out of our league, dude! Can we move him?” Stiles tries a halfhearted pull at the alpha. It won’t be the first time he’s carried most of Derek’s weight, but Derek howls at the jerking movement and pushes him away roughly. “Don’t touch me!” he manages to say through gritted teeth.

“We have to get Deaton here, I don’t know how to counteract any of this. Hell, I have no idea what sort of spell this even is!” Stiles says, pushing away from where he landed on the floor. When Scott offers a hand to help him up, he dismisses it, moving back to Derek’s side. “No, you go. Here, take my keys,” He stops Scott before he can object. “And no, I’m not leaving him alone, man. Somebody needs to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself further, and you’ll get to the car faster without me. Go!” he shouts when Scott still hesitates.

“If he turns, you get the fuck out, Stiles. I mean it! No heroics, just get to safety. I’ll be quick!” And then Scott is gone, leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

“Okay, okay. Just, just stay still, okay? No moving, no clawing yourself up anymore. It’s not really doing you any good.” Stiles is doing his damned best to be calm and assuring, but Derek is looking at him as if he’s the one whose body is falling apart, like Stiles is the who should be treated with care as if he’ll panic and run if Derek says something wrong.

“What?” He busies himself, clearing the patch of floor in front of him of wood chips and glass using big sweeping motions. Once satisfied, he plops down and crosses his legs, leaning forward slightly.

“You should’ve gone with him Stiles.” There’s a sheen of sweat forming on Derek’s forehead as he swallows hard, his voice tight with strain. A tremor runs through the alpha’s body. He jerks slightly, then exhales hard.

“Shut up, Derek. I’m not going anywhere.” The alpha flashes a tired smile in reply.


	3. Flashing Red

The wounds are looking worse. Way, way worse. The mess is slowly spreading before Stiles’ eyes. Stiles can no longer tell where the individual claw marks are, everything has turned an angry, sticky red, and most of Derek’s lower arm is one big oozing wound. The gash in the thigh looks better in comparison. Not much, but since the initial wound was a tiny pinprick, it hasn’t spread that much. Yet.  
  
Scott really needs to get back, fast.  
  
Stiles now has a very clear idea of the smell that made Scott cringe away. Even with the door wide open, the whole room smells like something died in there. Stiles is doing his best to breathe through his mouth and out through his nose as he picks at the worn cuff of his sleeve. But he can still smell it. Derek shudders, his face ashen as he looks at his arm before looking away again quickly. The tiny tremors are a constant now, making Derek’s hands shake and twitch as he tries to keep still.  
  
“Hey, maybe I still have a shot at cutting off your arm?” Stiles is trying for humor, he really is, but he feels like throwing up as he realizes what cutting off an arm might do with a curse like the one Derek is under. If a tiny wound starts looking like a gunshot after an hour, and three claw marks turns into something looking like a third degree burn; what would cutting off an arm do?  
  
“Sorry, lame joke. Really, really lame. I jus- Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?” Derek doesn’t answer, his eyes tightly closed and his breathing labored. Stiles leans forward, placing his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Hey. Hang in there, okay? I’m sure Scott will be here any second. He’ll bring Deaton. It’ll be fine, and you’ll be back to kicking ass in no time.” The sweat slick skin beneath his fingers twitches, and Stiles squeezes Derek’s shoulder for less than a second “Hey, no. Don’t. Don’t shift. Whatever this is, and I think we can both agree on it being fucking horrible, I think it’s using your powers against you. I just need you to stay as still as possible and just keep breathing, ok? Maybe if you’d try and focus on something else? Talk to me. Tell me something?”  
  
Derek settles down once more and finally does open his eyes, just the tiniest bit, eyes glowing red as he looks at Stiles.  
  
“You… you want me to talk? About what?” he sounds out of breath, and maybe this is not one of Stiles’ best ideas, but if it distracts Derek from wolfing out and dying from flesh eating curses, then Stiles will listen.  
  
“God, I don’t know. Tell me something I don’t know? Like you’re secretly royalty? This is your once-in-a-lifetime chance to reveal whatever you want. Unburden your heart… or like, tell me your favorite color? Though I think I can guess that one” he tries a smile, because at least he can do that, right? He can give Derek a smile, even though Derek must smell his fear and worry. Or maybe the smell of his own decay is clogging up the werewolf’s nose? Stiles finds that that is the least comforting thought he’s had in a very, very long time.  
  
Derek sighs, and it sounds bone deep and weary. His eyes are closed again, and Stiles feels a tiny flash of relief. He doesn’t want Derek to see how his body has turned against him. If it was Stiles dying like this, he’d hope someone would keep him from seeing.  
  
No.  
  
Derek is not dying. Derek never dies. Christ, Stiles has seen Derek getting skewered by alphas, electrocuted by hunters, and almost ripped to shreds by monsters. No fucking D&D curse is going to kill him. Derek won’t die.  
  
”Don’t you fucking die, Derek. I won’t allow it” The words are out there now, whether he wanted to say them out loud or not, and it almost surprises him just how scared he really sounds.  
  
”I-I’m not dead yet. Have you secured the house?” Derek half whispers. Amazing how the werewolf manages to sound pissed off, even now as he’s trying to change the subject. Granted, he hasn’t secured the house, and he really should. Stiles shakes his head before getting to his feet, unfastening the clasp on his messenger bag.   
  
A big box of iron shavings collected from the rail train depot takes care of the main door, and a few sprinkles of the Verbena secures the one window in the main room as well as the tiny one in the bedroom. It’s not like it’s big enough for an elf to go through, but it pays to be cautious. For a second he considers how he’s going to secure himself against intruders through the chimney, which again, too small for elves, when he simply decides on lighting a fire. There’s plenty of wood now that the table is broken, and with the door open and snow outside it’s fucking cold since he’s no longer moving around dodging enemies. He collects the pieces while eyeing the dead body suspiciously. He’s seen enough bad guys get back up, like in a bad horror movie, but the creature looks pretty much dead and gone.  
  
The fire finally catches properly, flames crackling happily, doing it’s best to chase the chill away. Stiles sighs, kicks the dead elf on his way past for good measure, and returns to his spot by the alpha. Derek hasn’t moved an inch, which, good since Stiles did tell him not to, but it does paint a very bad picture of how severe a situation they’ve found themselves in, seeing as Derek pretty much never follow Stiles’ advice.   
  
The alpha’s eyes are still closed, his eyebrows knitted, and even with all the dirt and grime, the slight frown and the ever-present stubble, Stiles has never seen him looking so vulnerable, so young. Stiles reaches out and strokes Derek’s arm. He’s not really sure why, but he knows that even though he can’t magic away the curse he can try and comfort this guy who’s somehow gone from enemy, to grudging ally, to most-of-the-time friend.  
  
The gesture isn’t appreciated. Derek’s eyes snap open and he flinches away from Stiles, only earning himself extra pain in the process. He hisses through clenched teeth, eyes flashing red.  
  
”Don’t touch me. Stay the f- just don’t touch me…” Stiles chooses to ignore the flinching. He also chooses not to comment Derek’s sort of whisper mumbling that sounds an awful lot like ’Nobody touches me’ instead he just rests his hands in his lap and pretends nothing happened.  
  
”I got the fire going. I don’t know if that thing over there,” Stiles gestures at the dead elf ”has any friends coming, and if so, what size they might be. But I mean, I didn’t even think elves were real. Wow, was I wrong, right? So who’s to say that, I don’t know, gnomes are real, hmm? Pretty sure they’re not, but if they are, they could totally get down the chimney. Well, not now, Ha! But we’re safe from all kinds of fairy and-”  
  
”I killed my entire family”  
  
”Legolas over there won’t get up any… wait, what?”


End file.
